


Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies

by Venivincere



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venivincere/pseuds/Venivincere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rocks fall.  Everyone... dies?  Well, maybe the Little Death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myashke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myashke/gifts).



> Many thanks to my wonderful, speedy betas reiya_wakayama and sheswatching. Written for myashke for the 2011 Merlin Holidays.

Later on when Merlin had time to think about it, his first inclination was to suspect that some magical, criminal mastermind were out to get him. Or King Arthur. Or his knights. How they expected to find all three getting soaked in a torrential downpour just outside of the old castle at Tintagel, Merlin had no idea. So on the whole, after further consideration, he was forced to admit that it was far less likely anyone was out to get them, and far more likely a matter of pure coincidence.

Right now, however, Merlin was blissfully unaware of anything except the growing charged, green stillness that came before a truly colossal summer storm, and the two bodies in front of him, hidden by tree trunks and the dim atmosphere. He'd only just gone away from camp to collect firewood, which ought to have been easy in this old forest, but after a full day's hard ride he was prepared to walk a little further afield if that meant he could use his magic to complete the task. Apparently, he'd not gone far enough. The voices identified them first, before he spied them in the growing gloom; Lancelot and Gwaine, who'd left camp to find a stream and bathe, were speaking low and quiet. And softly chuckling. Then -- oh god, moaning, and Merlin, rounding the bend in the path, caught sight of them and froze. Merlin _really_ needed to get out of there before he heard or saw any more. That moan was one that Merlin had heard before, on the steps to his room, breakfast tray heavy in his hands for a man who'd saved his life the day before, and that chest he saw -- well, the less he saw of that, the better. Merlin knew it to be quite a stubborn distraction.

He'd just about made up his mind to turn tail before Lancelot and Gwaine could manufacture another really appropriate ( _or not!_ his mind shrilled) reason for a bath when a hand pressed flat on his stomach and pulled him back into a hard chest, and another hand clamped down over his mouth. Arthur's breath ghosted over Merlin’s ear. "Shh."

Merlin froze, and for several moments his brain whipped into a maelstrom: he didn't want to watch--why was Arthur--but Lancelot--didn't Gwaine--and oh _gods_ he was getting hard. And the moment he let himself realise that, all other thoughts fled and his knees began to wobble, and he leaned back into Arthur... who was also hard. Arthur clenched his arm and hand tighter, but otherwise stood stock still and perfectly intent, like he did on a hunt with his crossbow cocked and a stag in his sights. Trapped, Merlin watched the scene play out in front of him.

It wasn't a romance. That much was clear. It was a means to an end, a way to find release from the tension and frustration of riding all day without encountering and routing the bandits that were terrorizing Camelot’s roads. They didn't kiss. They didn't touch more than their hands on each other's cocks. And when they really got down to business, they didn't talk or laugh, either. They panted, occasionally one or the other of them moaned, and it wasn't long before Gwaine's head tipped back and his breath hitched, and he was coming in long, ropey strands all over his belly and Lancelot's fist. Lancelot's free hand held Gwaine up by his shoulder as his breath returned, and shortly, Gwaine's hand began to work up and down once more. Lancelot let out a soft, "Oh!" and staggered against Gwaine's shoulder, pulsing and dripping and dazed. Gwaine held Lancelot until he found his legs, then followed him into the water.

Arthur's breath shuddered in Merlin's ear. Merlin pulled Arthur's hands off him and shot away, stomach roiling. "What... what was that?" He whispered.

"Something I've suspected for awhile," said Arthur, sounding blank enough that Merlin turned to look at him. Arthur was still staring at Lancelot and Gwaine, who were taking turns scrubbing themselves with a rough scrap of wool. Eventually Arthur came back to himself and stared at Merlin. He backed up a step. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn’t--"

"It's fine, Arthur," said Merlin, though it wasn't fine, not one _bit_ of fine, but he was certain he wasn't going to get an explanation from Arthur, at least not now. Which was OK; he was still painfully hard and the last thing he wanted to do was try and sit through Arthur's halting attempts at expressing his _feelings_ when Merlin's feelings were about to spontaneously exit his dick without his consent. "I'll just... finish collecting firewood and meet you back at the camp."

He turned away and hobbled up the path before Arthur could say anything. He bent to adjust his trousers, picking up dead wood and twigs as he did so, and eventually heard Arthur's footsteps retreat behind him. He walked down the path a few more minutes, out of sight and out of hearing range of Gwaine and Lancelot, then dropped to his knees in the middle of the path and threw down his sticks. The head of his cock was angry red and chafed when he drew it out and the salt of his sweaty hand stung him, but he spit in his palm and a few strokes later it didn't matter anymore because he was spilling all over the place, streaky, jittery lines in the dust. His knees gave out and his arse landed hard on his heels.

 _Fuck_ , thought Merlin, rubbing his arse. Because what he saw between Gwaine and Lancelot may have _got_ him scandalously hard but it wasn't what _kept_ him hard, it wasn't their stuttered breaths or the slap of moist skin in their hands that sent him down the path away from Arthur. It was the memory of Arthur's strong hand on his belly, and the faint taste of sweat and leather from Arthur's hand on his lips that made him _yearn_ , that drove him off and sent him over the edge.

He tied the laces on his trousers and staggered to his feet, legs trembling like a colt. _Right, then._ He cast a spell that filled his arms with sticks and twigs and by the time he made it back to camp his breathing had settled down and he'd stopped shaking.

He'd just laid the fire at the entrance to the ruins and was searching for the flint, when the storm descended, wild and windy and strangely cold for this deep into summer. A strong gust scattered half the kindling and spooked the horses, but Merlin managed to calm them enough to hobble them inside the hall and well away from the gusting squalls of rain as the others brought in the rest of their gear. At least the roof was still on. Well, on this side of the castle, anyway.

"We should explore," said Arthur, before Merlin could re-lay the fire. "We should try and find a room that's better sheltered."

 

#  
Merlin rose to the top of a sea of delirium and floated there. He opened his eyes but it didn't seem to make any difference: everything remained completely dark. Something was terribly wrong. "Arthur, something is terribly wrong."

"You don't say," said Arthur, from somewhere behind him.

"But I don't think we're dead," said Merlin, because he was shivering. He inched his hands out and felt around. Dirt. Stone. "Er. We're _not_ dead, are we?"

"Not as such," said Arthur, and Merlin was not sure how he could possibly be hearing _"idiot!"_ in there when Arthur was sounding so preoccupied. There was the sound of wood against stone and a bag dragging across the floor, then rustling, then sparks, then the steady light of a torch.

Merlin leaned up on his elbow and turned his head to figure out where they were, and, "Eurgh! Oh gods," he said, laying right back down. His gut roiled. He shut his eyes tightly and willed the contents of his stomach to _please_ stay where they were and not come out for an adventure.

"Merlin?" said Arthur, scooting until his knees were on either side of Merlin's head.

"I think I've cracked my skull," said Merlin, trying hard to speak without actually opening his mouth.

Arthur put surprisingly tender fingers on Merlin's temples and gently felt around his scalp. "No breaks. Though you do have a big bump."

Arthur's fingers returned to Merlin's temples and very gently rubbed, which eventually turned into Arthur running the tips of his fingers through the curls around Merlin's ears as he looked at their surroundings.

"Arthur -- what happened?” asked Merlin. “Where are we and what are we doing here? Where are your knights?"

Arthur looked down at Merlin, a strange unreadable stare. "You don't remember?"

Merlin gingerly lifted a hand to his forehead. "I think it got knocked out of me. The last thing I remember is hobbling the horses... And leaving our bedrolls in the ante-chamber with the lovely fireplace-- Arthur, did the ante-chamber roof cave in?"

Arthur breathed a laugh. "Close enough. We went exploring and found the entrance to a warren of tunnels that are said to extend under the isthmus and come out in that outcropping of rock on the road to Trevena. We were scouting back the way we came, looking for a way around that rock fall behind us when there came a great thundering above, and the ceiling caved in."

"We're lucky we weren't-- Arthur! Are the knights--?"

"I don't know." Arthur breathed in and out, once, twice, steady. "But I think they were out of the way."

"I hope..."

"We had better both hope," said Arthur. "While you were knocked out, I had a look around. There are no exits from this section of the tunnel big enough to get through, but rain is trickling in from the new rock fall. At least we'll have water until they can dig us out."

"My pack--"

"It's here," said Arthur, dragging it to Merlin's side.

"It has all our food."

"Then we'll be just fine," said Arthur, settling back against the wall at Merlin's side, and his quiet confidence was enough to let Merlin's aching muscles ease.

They were quiet for a time, until a chill stirring of the air caused Merlin to shiver violently.

"I'm cold," said Merlin, but Arthur was already reaching into his pack and pulling out his cloak. He laid it over Merlin and settled back against the wall, but couldn't hide his own shivers.

"Maybe we should -- just, come here, Arthur. Before we both freeze." Merlin carefully rolled onto his side and pulled the cloak up behind him. He waited, then finally heard the clinking of Arthur's mail shirt as he removed it and set it aside, and the slide of Arthur's gambeson on the stone floor. A warm, heavy weight settled behind him. Merlin made himself as still as possible to let the pocket of air between them grow warmer.

He was on the verge of sleep when a warm hand pressed flat on his stomach and pulled him back into a warm chest, and suddenly the memory of what he saw in the wood behind the castle came flooding back. Merlin felt his face heat and was inordinately grateful that Arthur couldn't see it. But Merlin remembered -- remembered the burn of arousal, and the shock of finding that Arthur was aroused; remembered, too, that Arthur said he'd expected... What?

"Arthur?"

"What is it?" asked Arthur, his voice a quiet puff of warm air stirring the hair around his ear.

"What did you mean this afternoon, watching Lancelot and Gwaine, that you'd expected as much? They -- well, they're my friends. And I -- I never had any idea they got up to... that sort of thing. Together."

Arthur didn't answer right away, which told Merlin that Arthur was actually considering his answer, which meant that Merlin was actually going to _get_ an answer.

But after awhile, Arthur said, "I've had the opportunity to work with them for over a year now."

Arthur paused, and when nothing more seemed forthcoming, Merlin said, "I'm with you on the practice fields most of the time. I ride out with you almost every time you go. I've seen nothing to make me suspect them. How did you know?"

"When you fight with another man," continued Arthur, his voice soft and low, "everything they have, everything they are comes through their blade. And when you've fought alongside another man, when you depend on him to keep you safe and he depends on you, you learn to read a man that way, too. For the last few months, there's been a tension missing from both Lancelot and Gwaine. But they haven't lost their edge. Far from it. It's as though some bond that kept a final piece of them at bay were loosened. But when they fight now, they are all there. They are free to concentrate fully on what is before them, whether in training or battle. A... regular release can do that for a man. Take away that tension that binds up a part of his power. Sex... can do that. And love."

"I don't think they are in love."

"Nor do I."

"How did you realise that they were... relieving tension... together?" Merlin held his breath, waiting for Arthur's response, wanting more than anything to divine Arthur's feelings from this words and how he said them.

He felt Arthur's lips touch his ear and could hear the smile in his voice. "There were no women. They didn't dally in the tavern at the end of the night. And I noticed this change in both of them at the same time."

Merlin smiled too. And then stopped. "What are you going to do about it? I mean... it can't be allowed to continue. Can it?" As soon as the question was out, Merlin felt his gut turn over, and suddenly he was hoping, _wishing_....

"I will do nothing," said Arthur, and he sighed a great gust, stirring Merlin's hair. "It's not unheard of, for men at arms to... take a lover in this fashion. Many consider it a weakness, but I have only seen strength. A man fights harder -- _anyone_ fights harder -- when they have something or someone important to fight for."

"I fight for you." The words were out before Merlin could censor them, and his stomach quaked.

Arthur's arm tightened around Merlin and pulled him as close as he could. Merlin's shoulder tucked under Arthur's chin and Arthur's breath tickled Merlin's ear when he said, "I know."

 

#  
Merlin woke to complete and utter darkness; their torch must have burned out in the night. His head felt much better and he wanted very much to sit up and see if moving around aggravated it, but there was a peace in his bones, in his heart, a warmth there underneath Arthur's arm that he was unwilling to let go of just yet. There was a faint sound of trickling water from somewhere in front of them, and the sleepy scent of Arthur's breath and yesterday's sweat lay thick about him. His head was pillowed on Arthur's arm, the gambeson smelling faintly of iron. Arthur stirred behind him, rolled onto his back and the arm underneath Merlin's head tugged. Merlin obliged, turning around and facing in toward Arthur's side. He threw a leg over Arthur's to keep himself in place and soon felt himself drifting off in the crook of Arthur's arm.

When next he woke, he was aware of two things: first, that his cock was very hard, and currently pressed tight to Arthur's hip, and second, that at some point while he was asleep, his leg had ridden further up Arthur's thigh and was currently balanced atop Arthur's cock, which was also very hard. Then he very quickly became aware of a third thing, which was, Arthur was awake, which lead to a fourth thing: Arthur was _aware_. No sense moving, then. The game was up. And Merlin refused to apologise. He slid his arm over Arthur's chest and found his free hand, pulled it to his mouth and kissed his fingertips, instead.

"Merlin--"

"Shh. Arthur -- just let me. Please. Just--"

Arthur turned in toward him, their hands caught between them. "I'll do more than let you," he said. And then Arthur sucked the bow of Merlin's lip between his teeth and gently bit. He let Merlin's lip go with a lick. "I'll mark you." He pulled Merlin up his chest just enough to reach Merlin's neck. He bit hard, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to bruise, then he sucked at that spot, the join of Merlin's neck and his jaw, under Merlin's ear.

Merlin arched hard into Arthur's hip and felt his cock throb against the bone. His breath hitched.

Arthur licked the bite, then tongued it, then sucked it between his lips, sucked and sucked until Merlin could feel the bruise rising. Arthur buried his nose in Merlin's hair and took in a mighty breath, breathed him right in, and Merlin felt the cool air rush against his scalp.

"I want-- can I have--"

"You can have anything, Arthur," Merlin whispered. "It's been yours for a long, long time."

They met lips first, and they kissed and they kissed, and they slid their clothes off their bodies as they writhed against one another. Merlin’s mind raced; kissing was _more_ , more than sex, though Merlin knew they would go there together, too. His heart blossomed with hope as his knees fell between Arthur's, and he rocked down hard; his bones turned to sugar and his skin shivered with every brush of Arthur's hands on his sides. Without warning, Merlin found himself flipped onto his back and his legs drawn up over Arthur's shoulders. Arthur touched his cock, fisted it, and Merlin's breath caught high in his throat. He reached a hand out frantically for his bag and drew out the little bottle of oil he used for cooking, pressed it into Arthur's hands.

"Use it, use it, _gods_ Arthur!" he breathed.

Merlin could feel Arthur's fingers trembling as he took the little bottle from Merlin. He opened it, and the oil dripped cool between Arthur's fingers and low on Merlin's stomach. Merlin’s cock twitched and a droplet of moisture broke free, and fell slow by a thread until it landed under his navel. But then Arthur's hand was upon him, stroking, and his eyes fell shut as all the strength fled his body. His leg slipped off Arthur's shoulder and came to rest in the crook of his elbow. Arthur's hand clenched tight, slid hard and fast down Merlin’s cock to the base, and Merlin clenched and thrust up, and shot all over his chest, his chin, Arthur's cloak.

"Gods," Arthur's voice shook, and his fingers slithered down, cupped Merlin’s balls, then slipped into Merlin's body.

Merlin shouted and arched, and then he moaned, and Arthur murmured, "Merlin, Merlin," in a broken voice as he slicked himself and pushed in.

Merlin's body throbbed and tingled, centred around a point of pain that swiftly turned to pleasure and leaked into his bones.

And then Arthur drew out and thrust back in.

Merlin cried out, and with every thrust thereafter, Arthur answered; it was begging and pleading, gift and offering; it was promise and oath. It was life.

Arthur poured out the last of his strength and it pulled Arthur along with it, over the edge and into Merlin, shaking, and sticky, and finally, finally _home_.

His arms collapsed and Merlin's legs dropped down; Arthur folded into himself and fell on his side next to Merlin. Still dazed, Merlin pulled Arthur's arm over his stomach and held it there, fingers twined, his thumb stroking smooth the fine-spun golden hairs on Arthur's wrist.

 

#  
Merlin wasn't sure what woke him until he heard the noise again; it was the faint sifting sound of sand and gravel slithering over the rocks.

"Arthur! We need to move!" he said, sitting up and scooting back in a panic. Arthur was on his feet and pulling Merlin up in an instant, just in time for a boulder to lever out of its spot and crash down where they had lain.

"What--?" said Merlin, but he didn't have time to wonder any more because a voice was calling through the stream of light that came in through the hole.

"Arthur? Merlin?"

"Sire, are you in there? Are you OK?"

"We're here! We're fine!" called Arthur.

Merlin looked at Arthur, apprehensive, even after everything. Arthur sent a silent, "I promise" in his gaze; Merlin dipped his head just the slightest in response.

Two days later they achieved Camelot, most of the bandits killed and the few who remained run back across the border into Mercia. They'd fought the best they ever had, and six prevailed where thirty failed.

Merlin set a laden tray before Arthur, then sat beside him, knees touching under the table. He felt the heat of Arthur's smile on his cheek, and a tendril of desire running down his spine to his loins. And something else.

He turned to Arthur, thinking of his kisses. "It's not just desire, is it, Arthur."

Arthur leaned in and whispered in Merlin's ear, "It's so much more than desire. Merlin -- it's destiny."

\--fin--


End file.
